


who wants to live forever

by sweetiedarling



Series: Dysfunctional Family [3]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Depression, Gen, Ghosts, Good Brother Number Five | The Boy (Umbrella Academy), Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Klaus Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Klaus Hargreeves-centric, Post-Apocalypse, Waffles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-30 03:30:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21421468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetiedarling/pseuds/sweetiedarling
Summary: This feeling had crept up on him after the not-apocalypse like a plague, enveloping him in its spindly arms and clinging to him like some cheap perfume. He couldn't shake it, and the longer he felt like it, the further he fell into the ravine that was his current depression.
Relationships: Ben Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves, Klaus Hargreeves & Everyone, Number Five | The Boy & Klaus Hargreeves
Series: Dysfunctional Family [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1492880
Comments: 4
Kudos: 229





	who wants to live forever

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings for depression, intent to self harm, and unintentionally starving oneself.

So, Vanya had powers and the apocalypse had apparenly been averted by a bit of sibling bonding between Vanya and Allison. Woo-hoo. Klaus would have been more enthusiastic about it if he didn't feel so crap. He was happy for his sister and her newfound powers, of course, and he had told her so when they'd let her out of her cage, but he wasn't about to leave his room and go parade around her with colourful banners like his siblings seemed to be doing as far as Ben had told him.

And yes, Ben had been reporting things to him for the past two and a half weeks because Klaus hasn't left his room more than a few times in those few weeks. In fact, he'd barely left his bed itself. The only time he left his room and bed was to go to the toilet and, maybe once or twice, to get some food when his needs made themselves known and they were hard to ignore.

As he'd said before, he felt like complete crap and he couldn't be bothered to leave his room or his bed. He'd never felt so low before. Of course, living on the street and doing whatever it took to get high, he'd been through some rough patches. Being a homeless junkie, there were more rough patches than not, actually, but he'd never felt like this before. Even as a teenager, returning from the mausoleum with vicious ghosts trailing after him and screeching his name desperately, he'd never felt like he did now.

This feeling had crept up on him after the not-apocalypse like a plague, enveloping him in its spindly arms and clinging to him like some cheap perfume. He couldn't shake it, and the longer he felt like it, the further he fell into the ravine that was his current depression. He craved a fix. Some pill or needle filled with a biting liquid that would get rid of these feelings, but he knew he couldn't do that to his siblings. Not after everything they'd been through in the past three weeks.

So he remained in his room, under his musty sheets stained with sweat that he refused to let Grace clean because that would mean leaving his bed, and ignored his siblings' attempts to get him to socialise with them.

Five had been annoyingly persistent and Klaus hated it. This sudden caring, sympathetic attitude that his older/younger brother was portraying like some bad actor from the sixties didn't suit him in the slightest. He was used to the ex-assassin making cocky, hurtful remarks that chipped away at Klaus self-esteem like a slow acting poison. He probably preferred that version of Five, actually. Not this one, where he jumped into Klaus' room every hour to convince (or threaten, on a few occasions) him to leave the room.

Allison and Vanya had also tried multiple times to get Klaus to leave, but they weren't as annoying about it as Five and Ben were. Allison didn't understand what was wrong with Klaus which meant she only made half hearted attempts whilst trying to get a grasp on what he was feeling. He was grateful she hadn't just rumoured him when he ignored her on her most recent visits. She seemed to be getting annoyed with his behaviour. Vanya, his sweet, caring little sister, was more sympathetic than Allison because she apparently understood what he was feeling (he tried not to get angry at that, because, no, she didn't understand in the slightest) but even she couldn't get through to him.

Surprisingly, even Luther had made an appearance a few times in hopes of letting Klaus know that he did love him and that it was hurting him to see his brother wasting away in the confines of his room. Of course, all of this was said with an essence of awkwardness that made Klaus feel uncomfortable even as he continued to stare at his ink-marred walls and prayed Luther would just leave and save them both the trouble.

Diego was the angriest whenever he showed his face to convince Klaus to leave the room. He was angry because, like Luther, it hurt him to see Klaus like this and he didn't know how to process that emotion or voice it without threatening him. Unlike Luther, who stood awkwardly in the doorway, he entered the room fully and perched himself on the edge of the bed. Then, he went on a tangent about how if he didn't get up and leave the room, he would only get worse (as if he hadn't already gotten worse when he decided leaving his room was a waste of time). Diego's visits always ended with him threatening to drag Klays out of there by the scruff of his shirt if he didn't leave of his own volition. He never followed through on his threats, of course.

Mom was the most consistent with her visits. She came to see him everyday, always bringing with her a plate of food, a drink, and a little flower picked from the garden, all balanced on a tray. The food would usually be something simple arranged in a way that made it look like it was smiling back at him. He appreciated that, really, but it always made him feel sick looking at it.

Before she left, she would tell him she hoped he got better and that it was making her sad to see him like this. He supposed that was an achievement, he would think bitterly. He'd succeeded in making his mother sad, when she wasn't even supposed to be able to process emotions. She would then kiss him on the head, even as he faced the wall, and leave him until she came back an hour later and took his uneaten food away.

Even Pogo had made an appearance a couple of times to give him a heartfelt lecture that made stubborn lumps rise in Klaus' throat before he, even more stubbornly, swallowed them back down and blinked at the writing on his wall. These lectures always ended in Pogo sighing sadly and hobbling out of the room, his cane clacking on the floor gently until it faded into the distance.

Currently, Mom was tsking at the sight of the cold food and slowly dying flower on his most recent tray of food. He hadn't even looked at it, had merely scrunched his nose at the smell of some kind of soup. Ben had sat on the edge of the bed, begging with him to just eat half of it, but Klaus couldn't find the energy to turn around and pick up the bowl.

"You haven't eaten again, dear," Mom fussed with concern laced in her synthetic voice.

Klaus blinked at the wall, hyperaware of the way she was stood behind him.

"You haven't eaten in a few days now," she continued, which was true. Klaus stomach had stopped cramping painfully a couple of hours ago, apparently givinf up on getting his attention.

Last time he'd eaten on Thursday, he'd dragged himself to the kitchen at Ben's request and grabbed some candy out of the cupboards. He'd eaten some of it, managing to satiate his hunger for an hour before his stomach growled angrily.

"I'm getting ever so worried, sweetie," Mom's hand brushed his greasy hair out of his eyes. He hadn't showered in a week. "I'm not sure what I can do to help."

"Nothing," Klaus croaked.

When was the last time he'd spoken?

"If you're sure, dear," Mom sounded reluctant even as she agreed with what he'd told her.

She was programmed to listen to any orders given to her, so what else was she to do? He felt sick at this knowledge but couldn't find the effort to tell her, well, maybe he could try some toast. Or, maybe she could help him to the bathroom so he could have a bath.

He heard his mom gather the tray of food and exit the room, her heels clacking on the floor and the door closing behind her with a click.

As soon as her footsteps faded into the distance and he was left alone once more (not counting Ben, of course) that's when the ghosts made themselves known again. For some reason, the ghosts didn't seem to show themselves when Grace was around. He wasn't sure why, but as a kid, he'd never questioned it and had gone through a phase of following her around until Reginald had given him a lecture about not relying on others and fending for himself. When he found out Klaus had been following her around because the ghosts were quieter with her, he'd been locked in the mausoleum to get over his fear of the dead.

"_Klaus_," the ghosts whispered, their voices somehow more ghostly than their forms and actions. "_Klaus_."

"Go away," Klaus ordered, one had coming to cover his ear whilst he pressed his head harder into his pillow.

"_Klaus_!" The ghosts yelled at his response. "_Save us, Klaus! Help us! Klaus_!"

A tear trickled from his eye, and trailed over his nose where it dripped down onto his pillow. He squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to cry over the stupid ghosts. It didn't stop his shoulders shaking with bitten back sobs, though. He clawed at the side of his head and his ear as the ghosts screamed at him, showing no bounds in their threats or the way they begged for his help. 

“Please, just…” he trailed off, unsure exactly of what he wanted of them other than for them to shut up, but he knew they wouldn’t listen to his requests for silence unless he downed a bottle of vodka or popped a few pills.

“Klaus, it’s okay, look at me, just breathe.”

That was Ben’s voice, once again creating a disturbance in the ghosts’ screaming and reaching his ears. He shook his head vehemently, not wanting to open his eyes and face the ghosts gathering around his bed like some cult. He pressed his head further into the pillow and increased the pressure on his ear with the heel of his hand.

He groaned with anger; the first bout of real emotion other than bone deep fucking sadness that he’d felt in what feels like millennia. His eyes flew open and he scrambled up from his bed with a burst of energy that surprised both himself and Ben. The cold of the floor seeped deep into the soles of his feet and the temperature of the room nipped at his cheeks, a stark difference to the warmth of his bed.

The ghosts around the room silenced for a mere second, but Klaus didn’t wait around for them to start screaming again so he hurried from the room, thanking the girl in the sky that none of his siblings were around. The ghosts had already started their incessant crying again by the time he reached the bathroom and quietly shut the door behind him. He might’ve found the motivation to leave his room, if only to get away from the ghosts, but that didn’t mean he wanted to face his siblings. His living ones anyway.

Thankfully, Ben hadn’t followed him into the bathroom, probably waiting on the other side of the door, which meant Klaus could finally allow himself to slump against the wall and revel in the silence. For some reason, ghosts actually had the decency to not follow him into the bathroom unless he’d been in there for an overly long time, in which case, they decided they’d appear and scare the crap out of him.

Leaning against the wall beside the door, he brought his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them with strength that would probably make Luther proud. He rested his forehead on his knees and squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing back the lump in his throat. He hadn’t cried over the ghosts since Hazel and Cha-Cha when he’d been forced into withdrawal and had flashed back to the mausoleum, he wasn’t about to start again.

His hands fell down his legs, so they were gripping his ankles instead and he pressed his head harder into his knees, bordering on being painful. He lightly scratched his ankles where the cuffs of his leather pants didn’t cover, but the more he scratched it, the harder he did so until his ankles were stinging and he was sure he could feel moisture gathering on the tips of his fingers and under his nails.

He finally stopped a long minute later with a sharp breath and looked up and around the bathroom. He hadn’t notice before, but the lights were off, the only source of light being the beam of sunlight forcing its way into the room, but it was enough for him to see everything.

He sluggishly got to his feet, his energy from before having apparently had enough and disappeared along with his motivation, and stumbled over to the sink. He forced himself to look up into the mirror hanging above it and took in his appearance staring back at him. He didn’t look like himself; he looked like a poor imitation of what he had once been.

There were dark circles under his eyes, more prominent than when he had been living on the streets, and his cheeks were gaunt. His face was pasty, and his lips were dry and chapped from lack of fluids in his body. Straightening up, he could tell even through his thin sweater that he was practically emaciated. He no longer resembled his self from before his father’s death and the not-apocalypse.

Something akin to shame suddenly fell over him and he turned his gaze away from the mirror, unable to bear the reflection any longer. Instead, his eyes caught sight of the cupboard on the wall instead and he swallowed. It wasn’t locked, the contents inside were practically screaming at him, their pleas to be used almost as prominent as the ghosts’ pleas for help. And who was he, the only one in the house that might ever use them in the near future, to deny those pleas?

Pushing away from the sink, he side stepped to stand in front of the cupboard and opened it with shaking hands. Inside the cabinet lived several labelled bottles and a bunch of beauty products such as hair gel and a face mask that had probably been there since he was a kid. It was probably Allison’s. Or his. Either way, he looked away from it and began rummaging through the pill bottles, looking for something that would take away the hurt that sat deep within him like a disease.

He couldn’t find anything other than an empty bottle of Vanya’s antidepressants and anxiety meds. He leant his head on the open cupboard and choked back a sob. Why the hell was there nothing to help him? Did the world just hate him or something? He knew little girl God did, which was probably worse than anyone else hating him.

Giving up on his search for any helpful pills, he wiped away his rogue tears with trembling hands and sniffled. He looked up and, as he was about to close the cupboards, he spotted something shoved at the back, now visible behind the bottles he’d shoved about in his search. At the back of the cupboard, hidden away, sat a little box no bigger than a ring box. It was navy blue in colour and had a little fancy, golden ‘K’ printed on the lid.

It was his, belonging to his sixteen-year-old self from when he’d been in a pretty low place. No lower than he was now, but he’d been quite low. The trips between mausoleum visits were getting shorter as his dad got more and more desperate for Klaus to reach his potential and he had trouble sleeping at night, only ever getting a couple of hours in at the most.

Honestly, he’d forgotten he had the box, had placed it in the back of the cupboard behind bottles of useless pills no one ever took one night and tried to forget about it. Apparently, he’d done a pretty good job. He knew what was inside of it, had referred to it so many times in his teen years that he could hardly forget, and already the phantom feeling of the little sharpener blade on his thighs was making itself apparent.

His fingers twitched at his sides as he stared at the box that was practically calling to him like some siren. He quickly reached up to grab it without thought, leaving no room for second guessing himself, but then there was a sharp knock on the door that had him startling violently. He hit his elbow on the cupboard door and hissed at the immediate feeling that followed hitting one’s funny bone.

“Klaus? Are you in there?” Five’s voice filtered through the door, more mature than his pre-pubescent voice should sound, but he supposed that came with being consciously fifty-eight years old.

For a moment, Klaus considered ignoring his brother, but he knew that if the man didn’t get his answer, then he’d just jump into the room.

Sighing, he turned and opened the door to reveal Five on the other side, hands in his short pockets.

“Yeah,” he whispered, voice still a little hoarse from lack of use.

“Glad to see you’ve left your room,” Five said, not beating around the bush.

Klaus hummed and stepped around Five with the intention of heading back to said room, but Five’s small hand on his thin wrist gave him pause. He stopped and turned inquisitively to see his brother looking at him with pursed lips. He looked as if he wanted to say something that involved a certain amount of emotion but couldn’t quite bring himself to do it.

“Are you going back to your room?” He asked, visibly relaxing as he apparently tried a different tactic.

“That was the plan, yeah,” Klaus shrugged and untangled his wrist from Five’s hand.

“Why don’t you come to the lounge? The others and I were planning on watching a movie,” Five informed him, “I believe Allison and Vanya were going to choose a Disney movie.”

That sounded appealing- after all, Klaus loved Disney- but the want to just go back to his room and lie in bed was just as appealing, if not, more. He looked away from Five and down the hall to where his room resided, wanting to just leave the conversation immediately and hide under the safety of his blankets.

His stomach, with its impeccable timing, then chose that situation to make its anger at not being fed apparent. It cramped painfully and Klaus barely hid a wince as his hand came up to unconsciously rub at it, hoping to sooth it.

Five rose an eyebrow.

“You sound hungry. Scrap the movie, why don’t we go down to the kitchen and get you something to eat? Mom can make waffles.”

At the idea of waffles, his favourite food, his stomach once again gurgled. He glared lightly at Five, knowing the man must be feeling quite smug right now even if he wasn’t showing it.

Ben appeared beside Five, the latter unaware of the development.

“You should listen to him. You’re hungry, and I know how much you love waffles,” Ben told him encouragingly, hopefully.

Klaus groaned lightly, his throat protesting the sound, and tilted his head back in a dramatic display that was more like himself than anything he’d done the past few weeks.

“Fine, fine,” he relented, “but only so you’ll get off my back.”

“Deal,” Five said, but didn’t hold his hand out to shake on it, so Klaus knew this definitely wasn’t a promise on his brother’s behalf. “Let’s go.”

Five led him through the house, keeping his strides short so he would match Klaus’ sloth-like pace. They passed the lounge where, true to five’s word, his siblings were sitting on the couch. The TV wasn’t on, though, and Klaus wondered if Five had actually gone upstairs in hopes of finding Klaus and convincing him to join them. Or maybe it was just a coincidence that Klaus was in the bathroom when Five had knocked on the door. Maybe the man had simply gone to the toilet and the door happened to be closed, meaning it was occupied.

He shook his head of those thoughts in favour of giving his siblings a little wave as he and Five passed the lounge. They all stared back in varying degrees of surprise and gratitude, and if that didn’t make him feel shitty, he didn’t know what would.

As he and Five reached the kitchen and the latter headed straight to the waffle maker at no sign of Mom, Klaus heard a thunder of different footsteps scurrying in the direction of the kitchen. He lazily looked up from where he’d taken to staring as Five began to make waffles to see his siblings all entering the kitchen. They were all wearing different expressions but tried to act casual when they saw him staring.

Diego, Vanya, and Allison all went to take a seat at the table whilst Luther followed them but didn’t sit down, opting instead to stand awkwardly beside the table.

“Hey, Klaus,” Allison started with a smile.

He nodded a greeting and sat down opposite her, on the only side of the table with seats available.

“How are you feeling?” Vanya asked cautiously.

“Peachy,” he said, the words feeling forced and bitter on his tongue. He wasn’t peachy and he could tell his siblings knew that.

“I see you’ve come down to get some food,” Diego noted.

“Yeah.”

“Waffles, huh?” Diego continued.

“I like waffles,” Klaus told him flatly, resting his chin on the palm of hand.

Five began whisking the waffle mixture and Klaus distantly wondered how much longer the waffles were going to be. His siblings were all staring at him and while he appreciated the concern, for once, he hated the attention.

His siblings did their best to hold a conversation with him and Klaus wanted to talk to them, but he just couldn’t find it in himself to give more than one worded answers. That didn’t seem to stop them though as they managed to hold a conversation until Five had finished the waffles and a plate with two waffles and heaps of syrup were set in front of him.

He thanked Five gratefully and cut the waffles up, his stomach grumbling once more. He shoved a forkful of waffle into his mouth and practically melted at the taste. Had he ever mentioned he loved waffles? And who knew Five was such a good cook? The waffles were delicious.

He finished the waffles in record time with his siblings filling the silence as they waited for him to finish. The two waffles on his plate were just enough to fill his small stomach and by the time was done, his stomach was thanking him. His hunger was satiated, and he sighed in relief as he placed his knife and fork down on the empty plate.

“Good?” Diego asked.

Klaus looked up, having almost forgotten they were there.

“Yeah,” he nodded and turned to Five, “I didn’t know you were such a good cook, Five.”

“There’s surprisingly quite a lot of books to read in the apocalypse,” Five shrugged nonchalantly.

Klaus hummed and swiped a finger over his plate, gathering up some left-over syrup. He sucked his finger and then went back for more.

“How are you feeling now?” Vanya repeated her earlier question.

Klaus shrugged casually. Admittedly, he did feel somewhat better than he had when he’d been in his room, but that drowning feeling he’d been previously unable to shake still lingered, heavy on his shoulders, just waiting for a moment of weakness before it crushed him.

Sitting in the kitchen with all of his siblings, though, and a belly full of waffles and syrup, he felt marginally better. Like maybe there could be hope for him. It was as if he’d been sitting the dark unknown for so long, he’d forgotten himself, but suddenly, a hole had opened up in the sky and light was streaming in.

A tiny smile flickered across his second for the briefest of seconds, but he quickly smothered it with another mouthful of syrup. When he looked up at his siblings, though, he knew they’d seen it. They were also smiling, even Five. The smile he’d bitten back returned along with a giggle as he lifted his plate and began licking it.

He had a long way to go, sure, but his siblings were here with him to help him, and that’s all that mattered.


End file.
